She was regarding me anxiously.
"Now you must tell me, Berna. It will worry me indeed if you don't."
Once more she refused. I pleaded with her gently. I coaxed, I entreated. She was very reluctant, yet at last she yielded.
"Well, if I must," she said; "but it's all so sordid, so mean, I hate myself; I despise myself that I should have to tell it."
She kneaded a tiny handkerchief nervously in her fingers.
"You know how nice Madam Winklestein's been to me lately—bought me new clothes, given me trinkets. Well, there's a reason—she's got her eye on a man for me."
I gave an exclamation of surprise.
"Yes; you know she's let us go together—it's all to draw him on. Oh, couldn't you see it? Didn't you suspect something? You don't know how bitterly they hate you."
I bit my lip.
"Who's the man?"